


Suck it.

by SpaceValkyrie



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 05:30:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9705416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceValkyrie/pseuds/SpaceValkyrie
Summary: Innuendo. Maybe more, if I feel up to it.





	

He played in his guns until his fingers were black and bloody from overuse. Once, they'd been able to numb away all the guilt and shame crushing his tiny shoulders; but no more. For whatever reason, the heady, summery heat piping through the foggy streets of Goodneighbor on this night left lingering on its current a torrent of bad memories. Memories of war and dead friends. The rush of the final explosion before submerging into darkness. Shaun. Nora...and all the things left unsaid between the two of them. She'd been able to communicate her last words through that goddamned holotape; the one wherein she touted his "greatness" as a father. 

Tch. If only she knew the truth. Her husband was a liar, and fake. An insecure piece of shit that did not deserve her love and was barely sufficient to take care of their child. And now he'd lost him to the Wasteland. A piece of shit. He should have died, she should have lived.

Click. The magazine clipped into the chamber with the satisfying sound and for a brief moment, his peace of mind shimmered back into view. He reveled in the smoothness of the scope and its new lightness from the alloy he'd welded onto it. Modding guns was not only a pastime; it had become the only way he could get a hold of his mind as it slowly disintegrated into insanity. Everyone else around him seemed tinged with mania. It was only a matter of time before he succumbed to it, too. He was determined to hold out. For so long - for the extent of his young life - knowledge and logic had been his rock in a sea of uncertainty. Now? He wasn't sure just how long he could hold onto sanity anymore. The world wasted away more and more, day after day. But modding wasn't doing him justice tonight. Memory lane was alive and blaring bright; if he was going to get any semblance of peace, he needed a distraction. And quick. 

A peal of coarse laughter floated down from an open window somewhere off to his left. Across from weapons table he was standing at was Hancock's mayoral estate. Dark, sultry reds of low-burning candles beckoned from myriad dingy windows; and Peter found himself suddenly gripped by a growing curiosity. The ghoul had implied - no, insisted - many times over that if he ever needed to "kick" the burden of reality, he was happy to oblige. But Peter wasn't sure how he felt about the guy. Valentine seemed intrigued, but remotely turned off by him - and since Valentine was his closest cohort, he deigned to follow his judgement. And yet....there was something about the ghoul that Peter could not shake. His eyes were glittering, beetle-black; just thinking about them sent a shiver of electricity through his spine. There was a sharp intelligence about the dirty-minded drug addict that seemed woefully out of place and yet - absolutely fascinating. 

And then, another peal of sharp, husky laughter dripped from the window, scraping along the hollow of his ear. Peter swallowed, hard. Something about that laughter was beckoning him. Entrancing. Along with it, he suddenly go the enticing smell of spices in the tangibly hot air, prickling his nostrils, filling him with new energy.

"What the hell?" He wasn't getting sleep tonight, anyhow. 

He found Hancock as he expected he would: limply lazing on a rat-bitten chaise lounge in his drawing room, sucking languidly on an inhaler of jet. What he hadn't expected was that he'd be all by himself; when he heard the laughter, he just assumed Hancock was entertaining tonight. Not the case. Aside from a thick, silvery haze of cigarette smoke whose source was alight in the ghoul's other hand, they were absolutely alone. 

Oh, this wasn't quite right. "Whoops. Sorry. Thought you had a crowd. Act like I wasn't here!" Peter raised his hands dismissively as he half-stammered out his words, pointing with his nose back at the door as he hastily turned to exit. Stupid. Dumbass.

But the heavy-lidded, half-asleep man suddenly started from his dusty lounge. "No, no, no, no. You're not getting away that easily, Freckles. You obviously came to see me for a reason," Peter turned to see Hancock had drawn himself up onto one side of the piece of old furniture - and was patting the now empty spot at his side with his jet inhaler gripped in his irradiated hand. "....Sit. Tell all." Those glittering eyes - insets of onyx - seemed to stab him through. With somewhat of a resigned sigh - and a shaky smile - Peter shuffled over to the couch, coughing as a sprightly curl of dust cropped up when he sat down on the cushion."I saw you, over there. Playing with your gun." If his eyebrows hadn't burnt off, Peter would have assumed he was waggling them suggestively in his direction; instead, Hancock seemed to just wiggle his eyebrow bones up and down, his characteristically wicked smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. Somehow, the ghoul still had dimples despite the lack of...well. Most of his skin. 

He'd never done well with flirtation. It wasn't exactly what Hancock was doing this time around; but he had many times before, and the more colorful quips stuck out in his mind. Despite the ghoul's relentlessness. Comparing him to a "tasty Red Hot." Calling his stomach "a cold six pack" and commenting that he could just "lick the condensation off of it." And then...of course. There was his strange fixation on his ass: "Look at those perfect cups! I could hold onto them and ride them into the pearly gates of Heaven!"

As if all of this had suddenly spewed back out of his mouth at once, Peter reflexively touched the side of his face. It must have been glowing red. "Oh, c'mon. They're not that bad. You need them...just like the rest of us who've lost everything we've ever known and loved." 

Oh. He was talking about the drugs. Peter nodded, slowly, his eyes alighting instead to a flaking poster on the wall. It was so much easier to hold a conversation when he wasn't staring into those profound, jet black eyes.

"I... " He sucked on his bottom lip, raking it between his top teeth. "Sure. I mean. Yes, that's why I'm here. I need a.... distraction." When he turned back to Hancock, his eyes were pleading. He looked so goddamned tired, dark circles deep, shadowy pits beneath his soft brown eyes.

John was already feverishly shaking the inhaler of jet in his hand, grin widening. "I'd never thought you'd ask." He offered it out; Peter looked at it admiringly a moment...and then shook his head, sadly. "Oh. C'mon kid. Watch." He gestured dramatically with one hand as he tilted his head back and sucked; Peter found himself oddly latched onto the way the ghoul's neck throbbed, adam's apple bobbing relentlessly as he inhaled the drug inside. It was...wickedly perverse. He suddenly felt embarrassed, as though he had watched something he probably shouldn't have.

"Maybe I shouldn't...?" But Hancock could tell his hesitation was more from an embarrassed uncertainty than any real repulsion. Besides. He wasn't an idiot. He'd seen how the boy watched him with partially parted lips as he salaciously sucked. With a hoarse chuckle that made Peter's cheeks burn brighter, Hancock quickly wrapped the coarse fingers of his right hand around the nape of Peter's neck and, with the other, slowly guided the mouth piece of the inhaler between the man's lips.

"C'mon. I'll show you," he whispered, voice all grit and grime. Peter clenched his eyes shut and shuddered at the sudden feel of sandpapery skin along his exposed neck; John's ministrations were exact, but gentle. He tasted one of his fingers clasped around the handle of the inhaler as he pressed it closer, forcing Peter's lips to part wider, receiving the end of the receptacle fully into his mouth. For a moment, Hancock got a glimpse at how pink, hot and wet the human was on the inside. His groin twitched. He leaned forward, coaxing Peter to rest his back onto the arm of the chaise lounge. 

"Now," the ghoul breathed, his skin clammy, airy, along Peter's slightly exposed collarbone. His half-unbuttoned flannel shirt had been a damnably good idea, he'd decide in retrospect. Peter nodded, hanging on the other man's words as he swallowed dryly, sustaining himself from choking on the object now deep in his mouth.

And then Hancock commanded, "Suck," And Peter was momentarily lost in the double-edgedness of the single word; he saw Hancock's black eyes glitter with knowing mirth, his face mere centimeters away from his own. Finally, he every hesitatingly did as was told; the reaction was almost immediate. His eyes watered; his lungs burned and he was sent into a coughing fit. The was a snap and a hissing noise as the substance was issued into his throat. Hancock was laughing fiendishly somewhere in the background; the world around him seemed to fall into a profound haze of slowness. Even John's laughter was syrupy, slow. Peter wafted his hands in front of his face - and giggled, as they shot through the air at a speed much more swift than the molasses of a world around him. 

With viperous speed better than his own, John grabbed his wrist. "Feels damn good, doesn't it?"

The ghoul's hand was rough - but he noticed he was kneading the skin of his own wrist with the coarse pad of his thumb. Peter grinned fiendishly back. "Damned good," He murmured in agreement.


End file.
